


Convenient Lies

by StairwellWit



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Internal Conflict, Joshua lying to himself, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, slightly lengthened timeline is all, vague descriptions of sexual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StairwellWit/pseuds/StairwellWit
Summary: This is all convenient. The curtains are half drawn, the moon half full, and he wants to tell Vasquez it's just how he looks in this light that's making him think he could love him right now.





	Convenient Lies

**Author's Note:**

> i actually feel like this one kind of ends roughly, i had originally had more planned for this but then lost it but still wanted to post what i had because i do like the visual and internal conflict of this honestly. so i am sorry for that but i hope you do like what i have to give from it  
> please enjoy!  
> always love!  
> -S

Vasquez says "You are only good at fooling yourself, querido"  
And then Vasquez is licking his way into Faraday's mouth like he owns the place.    
It isn't unappealing, not unenjoyable - pleasant if Joshua were feeling particularly honest- but mostly it is insanely infuriating. Moreso when Vas just laughs at Faraday when he bites back like bobcat caught in a trap.   
…  
Two weeks ago Faraday damn near falls off Jack's saddle and snorts at the vaquero's existence.  
"Oh good. We got us a Mexican."   
Faraday is drunk and Vasquez is unimpressed. And really that's all the introduction they need.  
...  
Somewhere in the back of his still conscious brain, the ounce of it not lacking blood or filled with foggy baser needs, Faraday can still tell himself he planned it like this. They'll continue this conversation when he is good and ready. Whether Vasquez likes it or not. As it is, he is not distracted. He will tell Vasquez what he needs to tell him: that he's just convenient.  
Vas's lips, convenient, his rough hands and dark eyes.   
The room they've taken above the saloon for weeks, the chair under the handle, shedded boots and bare feet. This is all convenient. The curtains are half drawn, the moon half full, and he wants to tell Vasquez it's just how he looks in this light that's making him think he could love him right now.   
Nothing else.   
Vasquez is folding himself eye level to Faraday's fly and it's politeness for the offer that keeps him mute and agreeable. He's not in the business of lying to himself but he still tells himself the sound of Vas' knees hitting the ground under the weight of their actions and the rush of their lust won't echo through the halls of his mind years after this.  
Or wouldn't, if they had that kind of time left to be breathing. Before he dies he just wants to say: the breath on his hip is truly irrelevant. It could be anyone there. Anyone at all. It would be just as good, just as helpfully distracting. He'd temporarily love them just as much.  
He wants to lie, say that it's only the light making him think he can succeed in anything more than just tolerating Vasquez. Whose sweat from the day, wood scented and earthy, is not appealing. If he could pick he'd get off better if he'd wear some perfume. He's hardly getting off as it were, a truly valiant effort on his part.  
And if Faraday traces the bruises inside his thighs in the morning it's truly from discomfort. Not because they're left over shapes of Vasquez's lips.   
He wants to say he's too drunk to remember this.  
They both know he isn't.   
…  
If asked Faraday couldn't rightly recollect how it had happened. How they had come to fall into this tug of war. But somehow now he'd build an alter to the way Vasquez smiles if he could. A gospel of diversion. Deadly and thrilling.  
But oh it's been so long since Faraday has been in any good danger hasn't it.   
Before Sam found him he was in a ravine with two men and twice as many guns pointed at him.   
That doesn't hold a candle Vasquez. Who is a fire low in his gut on quiet days.   
...  
Everything is suddenly warm and wet, Vasquez is sucking him down and the only thing Joshua can think is he needs to tell him his name is just sounds. This isn't flattery.   
Please don't think you're special, Vasquez. It's just gasps of breath that aren't unique, borderline accidental. It's not a preference to the taste it leaves on his tongue. Any name would do. Would be as sweet, intoxicating.  
He wants to lie. To them both.   
His hands won't ever find himself in the middle of the night.  
Under buckle and bullets. Too dry to even be alright, his callouses catching all wrong. He'll say it's good enough. With a grunt and a sigh and it will be enough. But he can't imagine anything better than it is right now with Vasquez here and warm.   
Because the way Vasquez falls to his knees is nothing short of worship. Of servitude. An adoration Faraday is patently aware he's done nothing in his troublesome life to deserve and is equally terrified of accepting.  
The consequence of these syllables -of please, of Vasquez- that leave his lips is such a conflict on his tongue, like cheap honey wine. Sweet and burning and hard to swallow. The after taste is shameful life choices. This is the death rattle of his pride choking his throat. Joshua is having a crisis and the saint between his thighs is whispering orisons in a foreign tongue.  
He can only guess what Vasquez says, moist and cutting against the meat of his hip. It burns like hell straight to his cock, and damn Faraday if this is what the devil deals.  
Damn him straight to the fire in the back of Vasquez's throat.  
There are large hands catching like spiderwebs across his ribs. His shirt; he doesn't remember removing it. His feet skid the floor. His orgasm is a choir, clouding his brain with noise like rushing water. When he shoots it's as deep in Vasquez's throat as he can get. This is a standing, wobbling, submission Faraday gives to a brown eyed creature he isn't sure God could even create on purpose if he tried.   
He wants to lie to Vasquez. With their pupils wide and hungry. Faraday wants to lie to Vasquez and tell him he hates him.   
His cock is still in his throat, and he's never hated anything or anyone more.   
Not even his daddy or his brother, not even Bogue.   
This is nothing but liquor he didn't drink, black out drunk on nothing more than a man with bruised knees.   
Faraday's tongue wants to tell him he loves him but through his teeth it just sounds like "Take me to bed".   
...  
Perhaps that's all the love either of them needs, the only truth they can handle right now. Nearly certain death needs only nearly almost love. Instant gratification to feelings that may not be there in sunlight. When so often a change in lighting will shift ones heart so quickly. Love is so much simpler with no witnesses.   
...  
Vasquez strips with too much grace and grins at Faraday. He's too handsome. Too much. His hair is curling and Joshua shoves Vasquez back onto the bed in a toppling pile of overworked muscles and loud kissing.   
How did he even get here.  
Christ but he was still trying to figure it out.   
This whole event was a pact he didn't read the print on because he had needed his horse back. Needed the money. Needed…Something..  
He hadn't quite figured it out yet why he had said yes and stayed once he got his horse. He'd never been an honest man, what had kept him?  
It was Sam what had given Faraday the contract. Made the inquiry, laid out a deal…but Vasquez. It was Vasquez he had kissed back like he'd found the punctuation on his tongue and signed the deed with their teeth clacking and lips sealed.  
It had taken less than a week before they got here.  
After all the teasing. The insults and jabs.   
The first thought Faraday had, kissing Vasquez there with his back against the wall and the dusty air of Rose Creek kicked up around them, was Vasquez tastes like a hymn sang to the wrong God.   
...  
It's hardly a fight when Vas rolls Joshua onto his back and touches his cheek, says one more time, "The only person you are good at fooling is yourself, Joshua" then licks into Josh's mouth like he owns the place.  
It isn't unappealing, not unenjoyable, if Joshua was feeling honest he'd admit it's the only feeling he wants to know the rest of his life. But this isn't a night for honesty, this isn't a night for words. Joshua wants to lie. To Vasquez, to God, most of all he wants to lie to himself. None of this really matters, that's what he wants to say because two weeks is not enough time to unpack all of what they have become. Two weeks is not enough time. This will just have to do.  
There is no way Vasquez would say 'I love you too'  
...  
The curtains are half drawn, the moon half full, and Joshua wants to tell Vasquez it's nothing to do with how he looks in this light that's making him think he could love him forever.


End file.
